Stories and Tales
by WritingJustToWrite
Summary: Another one of those prompt-driven drabbles. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, this is my first story and I hoping it will be a success.**

**Honestly I don't have the biggest knowledge about the Three Musketeers as have I am only part way through the first book, I have however seen the 1993 and 2011 movies.**

**What I am doing is a series of prompt driven drabbles. I know people have done this before (and congratulations to them for their wonderful work) but I am going to do it a bit differently. Every single (reasonable) prompt given to me will go on a list, and I will complete that list- not necessarily in the order I have been given.**

**As I said on my profile, I don't discriminate. This means I am willing to write non-explicit male pairings. **

**I know many people don't do this because they are homophobic or disliked it because it can feel forced but I think it's only fair to cater to everyone.**

**So I need all the prompts I can get **

**But now, just an short example of how I write. **

_Set after returning the jewels in the 2011 movie. _

D'artagnan swayed and collapsed into a chair, slumping over the table as a deep exhausting ache settled into his bones, he was finally paying the price for his adventures.

He was immensely annoyed at the King who had insisted they all stay for his birthday celebrations until dawn, despite the fact they were dirty and bloody. He had been running on empty for hours and could now barely bring himself to move.

He remained in his position as his fellows flatmates ventured in, Athos raising an brow at the normally cocky boy. "What's wrong with you, boy?" he said, shaper then he intended. D'artagnan bristled and looked up to glare at him "I have been knocked unconscious twice; you had a ship crash on me and duelled I Rochefort. What- did you expect me to be running about, doing cartwheels?"

Athos immediately defended himself "I did not crash a ship on you!"

"You might have well had," Porthos spoke up from his chair, his feet resting on the table "You very nearly killed me and Aramis." Athos shot a cold glare towards Porthos but otherwise made no comment, before sitting himself down with a sigh.

"Are you hurt?" Athos eventually ventured after a few minutes of silence. D'artagnan gave a grunt from behind his arms and waved his hand "Nothing I can't handle." he drawled, his cocky manner slowly showing itself again.

"So you can handle bleeding out over the floor?" a voice whispered from beside his ear. D'artagnan jumped, spinning around, his hand reaching for the hilt of his sword on instinct.

Aramis stood beside him, arms crossed. He nodded towards D'artagnan's jacket "I have watching that since you climbed back onto the ship," he said calmly, while Athos slowly sat up straighter "it hasn't stopped bleeding. Would you care to explain why? You said they were nought but small flesh wounds."

D'artagnan instinctively drew him jacket closer. He wasn't about to let his injuries lower the musketeers opinions of him. "Like I said," he began, pushing down his apprehension "it is nothing I cannot handle, Rochefort only scratched me. It's not like he shot me, anyway a few cuts won't kill me."

"Prove it." Athos said suddenly.

"What?"

"Prove it," he restated "If your wounds aren't any trouble then you will surly be able to have a duel and show us your skills that allowed you to defeat Rochefort." his words seemed to mock D'artagnan who immediately saw the opportunity to prove himself.

He pushed himself up, determined to prove his place, however he immediately regretted it. Sharp stabbing pain immediately assaulted his ribs were Rochefort had raked his sword across. A strangled gasp escaped D'artagnan before he could stop it, the world suddenly spun and he latched onto the back of his chair for support. Unfortunately this was the hand that had grabbed onto Rochefort's sword, immediately he let go as if he had grabbed burning metal.

Swaying he looked up into the concerned faces of Aramis and Athos, who were poised, ready to leap and grab D'artagnan if he was to fall.

This only fuelled his annoyance and desire to prove himself. Biting back a moan D'artagnan took a step forward, his hip bumping into the edge of the table as he did.

Suddenly the world spun as an angry burning pain attacked him, devouring , ripping apart all his nerves. Numbly D'artagnan looked down at his hip and clasped onto it while piercingly bright blood pulsed out between his fingers.

Managing a small "Oh." of surprise, D'artagnan dimly managed to realised Rochefort actually had managed to shoot him, before he swayed, black creeping up on his vision. The last thing he saw was Porthos arms in a battle with the ground in who could reach him first.

D'artagnan slowly came to, the previous pain dulled to an incessant throb. He kept his eyes shut tight, trying to place himself and the murmuring voices that surrounded him. Slowly he realised that they were his three companions with the occasional squeak that he assumed was Planchet.

He shifted and groaned as the pain returned with a vengeance, instantly the voices halted; two sets of footsteps approached him while the other moved away. Realising there was no point in pretending he was asleep, D'artagnan slowly cracked his eyes open and took in his bearings. He was on a cot that was placed in front of the fire, swamped in blankets that covered his entire body except his right hip and ribs. He apprehensively turned his eyes to the angry face of Athos.

Athos wasn't just angry, he was _furious. _"Why," the red faced man ground out "Why did you not tell us?" D'artagnan winced; shrinking back "I didn't think that…" he trailed off, unable to put his fears into words.

"You didn't think what?" Athos spat out, ignoring Porthos's warning squeeze of his shoulder "That you could die? That you didn't have a place here? That we actually _care_?" He halted as he saw the truth in D'artagnan's eyes "You couldn't think that," Athos said wide-eyed "You fought with us, you sacrificed yourself, we had your back and took you into our home- and you thought we didn't _care_?" Athos didn't wait for a reply; he just swept away and out the door.

Porthos turned his big sad eyes to D'artagnan who looked utterly miserable, and knelt beside him, clasping D'artagnan's small hands within his. "I told you that you would be dead by sunset, and you can't understand how glad we all are that I was wrong." D'artagnan felt his face flush, unable to comprehend _why. _Why did they care? Porthos seemed to understand where his thoughts were going and responded with a brilliant smile and a clap to the shoulder, "You paid for the wine." he said, before turning and following the path that Athos had taken earlier, doubtlessly to go and reprimand him.

Before he had time to wonder about what had just happened, Aramis arrived with an armful of bandages "I assume Athos is finished tearing strips off you?" he said smirking. Numbly D'artagnan nodded, drowning in his own confused thoughts.

Aramis dragged a chair beside D'artagnan and sat down, ignoring his confused and wandering gaze. "Am I correct in guessing that most these wounds are from a blade?" wordlessly, he nodded "The bleeding on your hip looks like a bullet wound, but you said you were not shot. Care to explain?" D'artagnan quailed under Aramis's questioning gaze. Looking down he whispered "I thought he didn't."

"And the bruises on you chest?"

"Fell off a roof."

"Ahh," was his response "well you're lucky. The hip and ribs are stitched up, you don't have any infections or fever and in reality your only problem was blood loss." Aramis smiled at him, quickly murmured a short prayer and started wrapping the wounds.

D'artagnan frowned, now he was more confused then before. "Aramis," he started hesitantly, then ploughed forward "if it wasn't that bad… well…" he trailed off and started hopelessly out the door. "Then why is everyone reacting like this." Aramis said softly after he completed dressing the wounds. D'artagnan turned his gaze upon him and nodded a desperate look upon his face.

Aramis smiled softly and answered "They- we, can see ourselves in you. Athos sees the stubborn little basted he once was, Porthos can see the loud, cocky man he is and I can see the boy who just wants to rise up and follow his dreams. But the best part is that we can see this all put together, put together into you. You are the reminder for us to start living again." Aramis stood up and clapped D'artagnan on the shoulder, much like Porthos had done "It's something we all needed."

He gave D'artagnan a smile and walked away, allowing the boy to rest and finally- to understand.

**Ta-daaa.**

**I could probably do better, this just happened too fast for my liking- but this is it for now.**

**Advice and constructive criticism is welcomed.**

**Flames are ignored.**

**Prompts are worshipped. **

**Thanks.**


	2. Dear Characters

**Hi everyone, thankyou so much for the review and favourites. I am searching for a beta so I can improve my grammar. Sorry but that never was my strong point. I have another story written and I will upload it once I find someone to edit it.**

**IMPORTANT**

**This story was inspired by a story by LadyWallace called Dear Fangirls. I'm sorry but if you haven't read that then this will not make much sense. **

**Dear D'artagnan**

If we can't have you- Constance can't either and why would we stop writing fluff? EVEYONE loves fluff and we are perfectly willing to do anything to get it, we don't care who we have to maim.

We know you love all the bonding moments with Athos and we promise not to kill him- for very long.

**Dear Athos**

You HAVE to drink, be grouchy and hate woman- how are you supposed to have heart warming breakthroughs otherwise?

And you think you are _attached _to that 'stupid boy'? You practically adopted him! I mean- awww!

Once you see that Milady is 'the one' will we stop bringing her up.

Oh and yes, breaking your mind is very fun indeed.

**Dear Aramis**

Yes, your blushing is bloody _adorable!_

We are very sorry about shooting your shoulder, maybe the knee next time. But still, we must respect Dumas's wishes.

It's okay, we know you are a man and it's perfectly normal to cross-dress every now and then.

More woman? We have Porthos for that.

**Dear Porthos**

What is with you and Aramis? You seem to want what the other has. You have to be the comic relief- or would you rather we try Athos?

You have enough woman- seriously that cannot be healthy.

If you want you 'infamous love' then you have got it.

It's on.

**Dear Planchet**

Of coarse they are going to be insufferable when they are hurt, that's how we get to _you. _Or would you rather you be in their positions?

Since when have we cared about your brain or Athos's sanity?

**Dear M. de Treville**

We are not insufferable! But getting charged for treason… good idea.

What happened to 'All for one and one for all'? doctor bills shouldn't matter.

If you want to stop writing letters to D'artagnan's parents then I don't know- make sure he is actually dead!

Fluff is fantastic thank-you-very-much! Just because you have no emotions doesn't mean you should attack us!

Trust me- don't drink coffee. How do you think these stories came about?

**Dear Rochefort**

All the reasons for your problems are simple- we don't like you

**Dear Buckingham**

When has their ever been a good guy that wants to rule the world?

Just because you don't like blood doesn't mean you can't get other to do the torturing.

Oh and I never felt sorry for you.

**Dear Constance**

Why would D'artagnan want you by his bedside when we could be there?

And why does everyone have stuff again father/son bonding? I mean- c'mon!

I am awfully sorry- would you rather see Planchet dressed as a woman?

Obviously he is going to get sidetracked, you would!

You are acting very selfishly.

**Dear Everyone.**

You are our playthings. Deal with it.

Sincerely, Fan-girls.


	3. Chapter 3

**IT'S DONE!**

**Granted, it did take a while but that's because my beta hasn't responded so I sent this to the fantastic Suthern-Bell85 who kindly edited it for me. (Go check out her stories!)**

**Anyway, I couldn't find time to do this between studying, rowing, annoying family get-togethers, B**ch fights and general hatred of anything that required movement. So HA! I have a excuse!**

**Thankyou to everyone who gave a review and a reminder that all prompts will eventually be written.**

**Thanks to CheetahBlackCat for the guide idea. **

**Anyway this is a prompt I got from LadyWallace (Go check out her great work)**

**Basically it's – D'Artagnan is left alone with a sick and crabby Athos… What will happen? Duh Duh Duuuh**

The lazy noon sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, dancing lightly upon Athos's face.

This seemingly insignificant scene would mean nothing to the casual observer, but to the other occupants of the apartment this was a shocking occurrence; it was like dogs had started talking and the Cardinal had walked through the streets singing.

Athos always followed the same pattern- rising before dawn, practising his fencing and shouting at Planchet for wine and breakfast. Even if- like the night before- he had stumbled in just as the sun began to rise, rip roaring drunk.

Never had Aramis or Porthos risen before him, D'Artagnan only few times, when troubled with his own musings and unable to sleep.

That was why, at two o' clock in the afternoon, Aramis, Porthos and D'Artagnan were huddled in the doorway of Athos's bedroom, similar gaping expressions of shock etched upon their faces.

"What do we do?" D'Artagnan whispered, a little fearfully. "What is he's dead!"

Porthos immediately pushed D'Artagnan forward. "Then you get to check." he whispered back, motioning towards the slumbering man.

"Why me?" D'Artagnan hissed back, crossing his arms defiantly "You have known him longer!"

"Exactly!" Porthos said "It's your turn to experience his temper."

D'Artagnan glared at Porthos before turning a pleading gaze to Aramis. "Back me up with this!" He said desperately but the religious man simply held up his hands, backed away and shook his head.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, D'Artagnan turned around and cautiously moved towards Athos. Upon reaching the bed, D'Artagnan threw a pleading look back at the two men who nodded, Porthos making some unrecognisable motions that D'Artagnan took as a cue to hurry up.

D'Artagnan took a quick breath, hoping Athos wasn't about to wake up, and gingerly placed two fingers on the pulse point of Athos's neck. Sighing in momentary relief when he felt a steady heartbeat, D'Artagnan went to move back to the safety of the other men when he felt something and frowned, the previous relief immediately banishing as he realised that Athos was _burning. _

D'Artagnan stared at Athos as his flushed skin and erratic breathing suddenly jumped out at him.

He hurried back to his companions and relayed his findings. His stomach rolled unpleasantly as he saw their faces go from concern to relief but then an all-consuming fear.

"What is it?" he exclaimed. Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other silently communicating. They, however, were not very discreet and D'Artagnan could practically hear them.

_Should we tell him? _Aramis seemed to ask

_Dear Lord, no! _Porthos' look of horror said it all

_Be reasonable. _A raised eyebrow

_Fine, you tell him, you deal with it. _A resigned sigh

_Thankyou _A smug smirk

"Well?" D'Artagnan prompted "What are you not telling me? You cannot assume something is so terribly wrong without getting close to him, you know something I don't" This wasn't a question, it was rather like an accusation, as if they had done something to harm his father-figure.

Aramis sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. "Nothing is wrong in the terms you are thinking of, it is rather a matter of Athos' disposition to others while he is in his current state."

"Huh?" was D'Artagnan's intelligent reply.

"He is a shit-head when he is ill." Porthos explained bluntly.

D'Artagnan laughed "That's what you're so worried about?" he exclaimed "Good Lord! You're acting as if you had your death warrant written by the king!"

"Ah, if only." Porthos said dreamily "Or better yet, a hand written death warrant for Athos. Yes, that would certainly make life easier."

D'Artagnan laughed again, albeit a little forcefully, if Porthos- who faced armies, thugs, murderers and assassins without so much as the bat of an eyelid, was scared, then maybe he should worry.

"Why in the name of bloody hell are you useless morons standing there jabbering away like a heard of incompetent women when people are clearly trying to sleep?"

The three companions jumped as a snarling, croaky voice rose from the bed. Athos opened his eyes angrily, dragging himself up into a seated position to glare at them.

"Did I not tell you fools that if you ever ventured into this room I would slit your throat and string you up?" he spat out, face twisted.

"Several times, and you're completely right in being angry," Aramis slid in smoothly "However, Athos, it is past noon and we were simply wondering if something was ailing you."

"I am fine," Athos growled, unsteadily making his way to his feet. "Leave now or I will come through with my threat."

"You look like shit." Porthos said blandly, stiffening a little bit as Athos's hand twitched in the direction of a wickedly sharp dagger that peaked out from under his pillow.

"I am fine." Athos repeated forcefully.

"Your fever tells otherwise," D'Artagnan injected, warily watching Athos "I'm amazed you can stand up."

"Do you doubt my skill with a blade, boy?" Athos suddenly roared, stumbling forward, raising his fist.

D'Artagnan blinked in surprise- he hadn't mentioned anything about swords or knifes, not even the slightest comment, so what was Athos raving on about?

Porthos for all his supposed fear of the sick man, stupidly relayed this question to Athos who in turn roared and lunged towards the large man.

Aramis immediately pushed a startled D'Artagnan safely from the room and then leapt towards Athos, prepared to subdue him. This, however, proved a pointless gesture as Athos only managed a single uppercut to Porthos' face before his eyes rolled back and he slumped backwards onto his bed.

"What," D'Artagnan said, completely befuddled by the random scene that had just occurred, "was that?"

"Shit-head" muttered Porthos, leaning against the wall. Aramis shot him an exasperated look and then asked "Have you ever seen a wounded or ill animal when it is cornered?"

D'artagnan looked at him blankly "Yes."

"Have you seen how they rage and snarl, refusing to allow one to approach them. How a twitch of the finger is interpreted as a full blown attack?"

"Yes." Aramis just raised his eyebrows and gestured towards Athos.

"Oh," was D'Artagnan's only reply, understanding Aramis' comparison.

"Oh, he says." Porthos muttered as he walked from the room. "More like- run your lives! Save the children first!"

It was several hours later that found D'Artagnan outside Athos's door, holding a bowl of steaming stew. Aramis and Porthos had warned D'artagnan to stay away from Athos and let them handle it. D'Artagnan had initially disagreed with them but after seeing what happened to Aramis, he agreed wholeheartedly.

Aramis had attempted several times to help Athos and cool down the steadily increasing fever, or at least find the cause of the fever- suspecting he had been in a fight and a wound had become infected, or a hidden cold had evolved into something more serious.

After each –unsuccessful- attempt a ruffled Aramis would be forcibility ejected from the room, sporting a new injury and ranting about stubborn morons.

After the seventh time Porthos had grabbed Aramis' arm mid-rant, he barked at Planchet to take care of Athos and dragged Aramis to the tavern.

Upon seeing Planchet's horrified expression (the man had been cleaning all day, trying his hardest to remain unnoticed by the grumpy men), D'Artagnan had taken pity upon the man and decided to go help Athos himself, which is how he found himself in his current position, praying he escaped a broken nose.

Steeling himself, D'Artagnan pushed open the door, mouth open prepared to retort whatever insults Athos was about to throw at him. But his words died on his tongue when he caught sight of the ill man.

If D'Artagnan thought Athos had looked sick before, nowhe looked like he was dying.

Flushed and sweaty, he was constantly turning and moaning, muttering nonsense. What really froze D'Artagnan was the sight of a clumsily wrapped bandage, soaked in sweat and blood, wrapped around his thigh, only visible because of the long ragged rips in his trousers, that certainly hadn't been there before. It was evident from Athos's clenched, bloody hands that they had caused the rips.

Aramis doubtlessly missed the wound as he wouldn't start stripping Athos in his search for the cause of the fever.

Muttering a curse D'Artagnan hurried towards the agonised man, placing the bowl on the bedside table.

"Athos," he said, shaking him "Athos!" he yelled after receiving no response. He came awake with a jerk, swinging wildly, punching D'Artagnan in the jaw.

D'Artagnan stumbled back with a yelp, clutching his face as Athos peered at him woozily.

" 'id I hit ya'?" he slurred "oo 'ooked like Aramisss." D'Artagnan hesitated, unsure how to act around the normally stoic man. Finally making up his mind, D'Artagnan hurried back to the door and called for Planchet. After he told the man what he needed, D'Artagnan hurried back to Athos. Kneeling down beside the bed, D'Artagnan drew out his knife to cut away the rest of the fabricsurrounding Athos's wound, ignoring the man's unintelligible comments.

Before he could begin though, Athos moaned and shifted away from him, "G'way," he groaned "Imma take are o me." D'Artagnan frowned at him, normally he would have been amused by Athos's horrible strangulation of basic French but right now he was more concerned about how difficult Athos was going to make this.

He tried again and received the same result, growling D'Artagnan lunged forward and pinned Athos's leg beneath him.

Athos cried out and bucked, attempting to rid himself of the extra weight, but D'Artagnan held firm. He finally managed to cut a hole, revealing a deep, angry red cut that travelled south, beginning ten centimetres below his hip and ending five above his knee. It was obviously infected and doubtlessly the cause of the fever.

D'Artagnan winced; he assumed that Athos had been in an altercation with the Cardinals guards, as he was out very late and very drunk last night. He could have easily been seen as a target. Anyway, if he had been in a bar fight he would have a lot more to show for it and he suspected Athos would make it widely known if he had a cold.

Planchet hurried back into the room with an armful of bandages, a bottle of brandy, a small packet containing a needle and thread and a bucket of water. "Could you please go search for Aramis and Porthos? I may need their help." D'Artagnan asked, nervously, unsure of whether he could help or not.

"I'm afraid not sir." Planchet said nervously, placing down his burdens and twisting his hands "Sirs never told me where they were going, sorry sir."

D'Artagnan frowned "Look at the _Drunk Sailor _or _Dead Man, _that is where they normally go to hide."

Planchet nodded then scampered out the door, leaving D'Artagnan alone.

D'Artagnan sighed, preparing himself for what he was going to do and approached the bed, he then softly spoke, "Athos,". He whispered, keeping his voice calm and level, ignoring the raging sea in his stomach. "I need to clean your wound: it will hurt but I need to get it done."

Athos groaned, shifting away from him " 'm fine," he ground out, appearing to have regained some of his senses "go, 'm be fine."

"Athos, please. I don't want to do this without you accepting." D'Artagnan said pleadingly. He was more worried then he was ever going to admit as Athos was like a surrogate father to him.

Athos stared at him woozily; he looked torn, confused and just a bit angry. D'Artagnan stared right back, after a minute Athos seemed to deflate "Fine." he muttered grudgingly.

D'Artagnan sucked in his breath, prayed Athos forgave him and brought down the knife to start cleaning the wound.

It was four hours later -just after dawn- that found D'Artagnan half slumped in a chair by Athos's bed, his head falling down by Athos's shoulder. The past hours had been rough, Planchet had returned after an hour of searching, reporting that he had found his two masters who were currently _indisposed_. D'Artagnan hadn't wanted to press the man any further as Planchet _had _looked a little green.

Cleaning the wound while trying to hold down a much stronger man proved difficult. Even when Planchet had taken it upon himself to help, it was like fighting against a bear.

Athos had jerked and bucked, causing D'Artagnan to lose hold of the knife several times resulting in him slicing his own hands. Eventually he had to sit on him, Athos however, still managed to give D'Artagnan several decent bruises on his back.

Even after he had managed to clean and bandage the wound the fever raged on, despite D'Artagnan constantly cooling Athos's brow. Athos kept calling out names and babbling nonsense. At one point when D'Artagnan had gone to get some food, Athos had caught his hand in a vice-like grip that still hadn't relented. D'Artagnan hadn't fought it, wondering whether it was a sign of affection or fear but inwardly not caring, pleased that Athos was coming out of his shell. Even if it was only when he was delusional.

It was an hour ago that the fever broke, half an hour ago that D'Artagnan had lost in his battle to stay awake. But it was now that Athos woke.

He came to slowly, firstly aware of a dull throb in his leg, then the gentle breeze stirring his hair and lastly the fact he was crushing something in his hand.

Opening his eyes, wincing slightly at the harsh light, that streamed in from his wide open windows, Athos looked around and felt his heart skip a few beats. D'Artagnan was slumped over the bed beside him, deep bags under his eyes, tousled hair and bloody hands and a large bruise blossoming over his jaw. Overall looking rather shit.

Athos slowly sat up and smiled softly as D'Artagnan subconsciously squeezed his hand. letting go of the boys hand that he realised he was crushing, he tenderly ran his hand through the boy's hair, an action he would have never done if the boy was awake.

Athos suddenly felt shameful that D'Artagnan had to see him like that, unable to recall any parts of the night, but he could still have a decent guess to what had happened.

Athos frowned as a though occurred to him. He, however sick at the time, was a strong man, if D'Artagnan had been holding him down while wielding a knife…

Quickly he examined D'Artagnan, skimming guiltily over the bruise as he had no doubt he had caused that.

His eyes once again drawing to the boys bloody hands. Hesitantly Athos reached out and grasped one, he had been hoping that it was his own blood and still was.

His heart nearly plummeted out of his chest as he saw the light cuts that covered the boy's hands, some leading high up his arms.

Athos felt a surge of anger at himself. If he hadn't got so drunk, if he hadn't gotten so defensive about the taunts about his sparring abilities, if he hadn't attacked the Cardinals guards… Any way he looked at it, it was his fault that the boy had to suffer through his rage and hold him down and cut him open and hurt himself.

Athos didn't even want to think about what the boy must be thinking, how much guilt he would be suffering under.

Shaking his head angrily, Athos gingerly pulled himself into a seated postition, scanning the room. A small sigh of relief escaped him as he found what he was searching for- a small pile of bandages and some clean water in a bucket by his bedside.

He grabbed them and went to move to D'Artagnan but frowned as he saw some of the other objects- a needle and thread.

He hadn't thought he was bleeding _that _badly. It was hard to hide his wound from the others but still…

Shaking his head, Athos approached the boy, making a mental note to ask him when he learned to sew, hoping his job would keep together. Carefully he started cleaning the boys wounds, inwardly wondering where the bloody hell Porthos and Aramis were and how long D'Artagnan had stayed up. He must be exhausted to be sleeping through Athos's not so tender ministrations.

When he was finished, Athos sat down heavily with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. D'Artagnan needed rest, not in some old chair but a bed and Athos couldn't carry him to his room, seriously doubting his leg would take the strain and he just didn't have the heart to wake him. That meant only one option was left.

Five minutes later D'Artagnan was curled up against Athos on Athos's bed, the younger man's hand clenching the elders. Athos himself had a smile on his face as he wove his fingers through D'Artagnan's hair, a smile that broadened as D'artagnan only burrowed further into him. Placing a kiss onto D'Artagnan's head, Athos fell into a deep, contented sleep. Happy to be with his son.

**Love? Hate? Review!**

**Thanks again for Suthern-Bell85 for editing this- you saved my life.**

**Annnnnnd two more things.**

**I DON'T OWN THE THREE MUSKETEERS!… I finally remembered the disclaimer!**

**How old do you guys reckon I am? I want to know what my writing skills are like **

**Next time- Athos makes a careless comment and D'Artagnan suffers from it.**

**Time After Next Time- Aramis hysterically laughing… just have a think about it. **

**Love? Hate? Review!**

**WritingJustToWrite**


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